


Going Steady

by Grenegome



Category: Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: Kink Meme, Light Bondage, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Protectiveness, Sappy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-08
Updated: 2012-04-08
Packaged: 2017-11-03 07:27:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/378841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grenegome/pseuds/Grenegome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kincaid sleeps with Dresden on a semi-regular basis. He isn't prepared for his feelings about this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Going Steady

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the Dresden Files Kink Meme.

Dresden knocked the warlock down with a wall of force flung wildly from his outstretched hand, then whirled to face the summoning circle, strewn with offerings to The Great Old Slow Dark Whatever. He brought the boomstick up, his go-to weapon, and called “ _Fuego_!” in a tone of wrathful conviction. I closed my eyes as the circle lit up, attempting to preserve my night vision and banish the thoughts that always got conjured up when Dresden’s stark features were brought to flickering life by firelight. I try not to get distracted in a firefight; it’s bad for business-- especially when the business is Jared Not Getting Shot in the Head-- but damn the kid’s got juice. I opened my eyes in time to see the warlock, who clearly didn’t know when he was out of his league and probably his mind, stand and face Dresden.

I shot the fool in the back of the head on an easy exhale, clean kill, no time for a death curse. Dresden blinked as the man collapsed to the floor, and then raised his hand in a defensive motion. Probably that shield of his.

“Don’t fret honey,” I said, nearly choking on my grin. “It’s only me.”

“Ja-- Kincaid?” Dresden said, surprise blooming on his face. “Why don’t you come out where I can see you?”

I stepped away from the fetid wall I’d been leaning against, into the light cast by Dresden’s necklace, and gave him my best smile, one that had been charming mortals out of their pants for centuries. “That’s not the warmest welcome you’ve ever given me.”

“We’re in a sewer. I’ll save warmth for above ground, thanks.”

“Come on then,” I said, nodding back the way I came.

But Dresden frowned, and crossed his arms. “I had that,” he said. “Didn’t need your help.”

“No, you didn’t. Couldn’t let you beat me to my contract though.”

“What-- who paid you? Who else knew what he was up to?”

I shook my head. “Come on, you know I never kill and tell.”

Dresden scowled at me some more, which didn’t help his case at all; his scowls make me want to ruffle his hair, maybe pinch his cheeks just a little. Stupid thoughts about a man who’d just flambéd a ritual that could’ve dragged Chicago into the pit. I’d given up on trying to uproot them.

“Come on, Sparky,” I said. “If we’re quick, we can beat last call at Mac’s.”

The promise of beer, or maybe the building cloud of smoke, encouraged Dresden to move, and he followed me through the tunnels. I must have plotted a more direct route, because he tried to drift off to the left as soon as we hit a fork.

“Wrong way,” I said, catching his wrist to keep him with me. Dresden hissed, and I looked down in surprise; abrasions, shallow cuts. He’d been restrained.

“Cthulhu's groupie get the jump on you?”

Dresden rolled his eyes. “Yeah, the usual. Bit of light bondage, recruitment speech, entirely unnecessary pain spells… are you _growling_?”

I was? I was. Fuck. I’d grown out of that a _long_ time ago, but apparently Dresden brings out my inner juvenile delinquent. “Sorry, didn’t know he’d had at you. I’d have given you the kill.”

“You’re so sweet,” he muttered, stamping ahead of me on his long legs. After a moment’s silence, he looked back. “Kincaid, if I went round killing everyone that hurt me, I’d… well, I’d have lost my head a long time ago.”

I felt another rumble rising from the back of my throat, my lips pulling back from my teeth in something that wasn’t a smile, and then I pinched myself, hard. That was _more_ than enough.

“You ok, man?” Dresden asked, head tilted cautiously, tone gentle, like _I_ was the one who’d been strung up and toyed with.

“Fine,” I managed, with something like a poor imitation of a grin. In response, Dresden reached back and pulled me alongside him, arm slung over my shoulder as we walked. I breathed the scent of smoke and leather, the Dresden smell that had some strange power of making me settle, making me lazy and indulgent. I slipped my own arm around his waist, fell into step with him easily. Dresden tensed for half a second; he likes physical affection, but sometimes he could be weird about how and when he got it. After a couple of steps, Dresden decided we weren’t offending his masculine sensibilities, and his stride relaxed into its usual easy pace.

 

We just made it to Mac’s in time to secure six bottles of his finest, and then drove back to Dresden’s place. Modern comforts aside, Dresden never really lets down his guard in any of my hotel rooms, so as a general rule I’m willing to brave the lack of electricity and hot water to see him slip his inhibitions. I got Dresden into his bed, out of his clothes, and then I got pissed off. “Pain spell, you said, not that they fucking beat you.”

Dresden looked down at the bruises blossoming across his rib cage. “Huh? Oh, that wasn’t today. Looks worse than it feels.”

I poked him, he yelped. “Seriously, Dresden. Is this some kind of fetish? Because if you like getting beaten up, there’s safer ways of going about it.”

He thumped me in the shoulder. “No. I don’t _like_ this, it just keeps happening to me.”

That wasn’t quite a lie, but it was next door to one. I lent over Dresden, smile shading into scary, and watched him react. “Come on... You like the fights, just a little. Trying yourself against something stronger. Coming out on top.” Dresden’s eyes narrowed, and tension settled into his shoulders as he braced for a row.

“Not a masochist, Kincaid. Not my thing.”

“Sure. You live underground and take cold showers and don’t let yourself earn enough to be wealthy, but you’ve got no interest in making yourself suffer.”

Dresden sat up abruptly, forcing me back on my heels. “Where are you going with this?” he asked, voice flat, eyes as close to meeting my own as he could manage.

I opened my mouth, hesitated. “Nowhere. No idea.” I twisted up my face, irritated. “Sorry Dresden, maybe I’m getting maudlin in my old age.”

Dresden’s gaze slipped down my chest, my belly, settled on my cock as he smiled. “Huh, you know, I thought I’d caught sight sight of some grey hairs down there... ”

“Why don’t you take a closer look?”

He laughed, reached out, and that was that. Business as usual. Until the next time.

 

The next time I saw him, Dresden was on his knees with a sword at his neck and Ivy was a guest of the White Council.

“It. Wasn’t. Human.” Dresden repeated. “Wasn’t even _alive_. I can’t break the First Law by killing something that’s already dead!”

Langtry stood on his dias, staring down at Dresden with an expression of distaste. Sneering British bastard. “Something we have only your word for, Dresden,” he said.

Ivy raised her hand politely, like a child in a classroom with the answer to a very important question. “Honorable Merlin, would Kincaid’s word do?” she asked, wide blue eyes sincere and helpful.

The Merlin hesitated. Langtry wasn’t good with kids. Especially not almost omniscient ones. “My lady Archive. If your bodyguard was present during the unfortunate incident-- ”

“He was present with-- how did you put it, Kincaid? He was present with _prejudice_ , honorable Merlin.” There was murmuring between the Wardens present in the hall; Dresden polarised people, as a general rule. People either wanted to watch him bleed out, or join him in some idiot plan and bleed alongside him.

“I see. Regardless, I’m afraid your bodyguard’s testimony cannot be recognised by this council.”

That was Ivy’s cue to fold her hands in her lap and sit in silence, like a good little girl. She didn’t. “There is precedent. Kincaid testified at the trial of Giovanni Battista della Porta in 1578.”

Langtry blinked, snuck a quick sideways glance at one of his obsequious clerks, and then said confidently, “We have no record of such.”

“You do, honourable Merlin. Under another name, of course.”

I coughed to hide a smile. I don’t know who taught the kid to use honorifics like terribly polite insults-- it sure as hell wasn’t me-- but I was damn proud of her. I looked aside, still trying not to grin, and found the Blackstaff’s gaze on me.

Fuck.

I met McCoy’s eyes; we’d traded glances a long time ago. He took me in, nodded, and sat back in his chair. I didn’t breathe a sigh of relief. I knew McCoy took the boy’s welfare seriously, and I’d been banking on that to broker a truce between us for the duration of this trial. With a bit of luck, he’d feel sporting enough not to drop an asteroid on my head when I stepped out the door.

“Very well then, Jared Kincaid, Archive’s Guard, you may offer testimony.” Langtry made it sound like he was humoring us all, indulging a pointless game before getting down to business.

“Hi,” I said, waving at the assembled wizards. It showed my bandaged hand to best advantage. “In case anyone’s wondering, that pretty redhead Dresden ignited was wearing a glamour. It was made of bones and rotting flesh; stank to high heaven, even before it burned.” The murmuring got louder, wardens looking from me, to Ivy, to Dresden. I caught a murmur of _Denarians_ , and a stray _Hound of Hell_ , but before the gossip engine could reach full steam, it was interrupted.

“The mercenary’s got a good nose, Arthur,” the Blackstaff offered. “I’ll give him that.”

“So, can we quit the Queen of Hearts impression now?” Dresden asked, mostly addressing the ceiling, head tipped back to keep his throat from getting slit.

Langtry paused, looked around the room as if someone would oblige him by yelling ‘Off with his head!’ Nobody did.

“Well. Take this as a warning, Warden Dresden. You have a responsibility to be above reproach in your use of magic.”

“Yeah? You have a responsibility to be full of sh-- ”

“Excuse me, Warden Dresden,” Ivy said, and he changed tack abruptly, finishing his sentence with “ --sugar.”

The sword got put away, and Dresden got to his feet before sitting down, as if this was a normal interlude at a council meeting. Maybe it was, to him.

...Christ.

 

We bumped shoulders in the doorway on the way out, Dresden’s oversized hand clasping my forearm once in a brief squeeze. “Thanks,” he said. “Free later?”

I turned my head to Ivy, framing a question.

“Yes you are, Kincaid. Say hello to Mister for me.”

Dresden grinned down at her, predictably soft. “Hey Ivy, you kicked ass-- uh, astrology in there.”

Ivy inclined her head to him, serene and ladylike, but there was a smile hiding in the corners of her mouth. I felt insufferably smug; the world was going to be an interesting place when she came of age.

 

I saw Ivy back to base safely, grabbed a burger from a little place downtown, and then made my way over to Dresden’s, onto his couch, beer in hand once more.

Dresden tilted his head back, long throat working as he drained the dregs from his bottle. My eyes got caught on his throat; pale, scratched ever so slightly, reddened. Dresden blinked. “Can’t wait to finish your beer?”

I realised I was practically in his lap, arms pinning Dresden against the sofa, nosing closer to his neck than I could really justify. Right. This was getting pretty stupid. I sat back, reeling in instincts that I didn’t permit to use me. I used _them_.

“You an old hand at the decapitation game, Dresden?” I asked lightly.

“Oh yeah. Doom of Damocles; used to get threatened every other week, regular as clockwork. WARLOCK! SNICKER SNACK! Etcetera, etcetera.”

“Stupid bureaucratic shits,” I said.

Dresden blinked at me again, then laughed. “Yeah. A toast; fuck ‘em all, and the hidebound rules they rode in on!” He knocked his empty bottle against my own. “Thanks again for the testimony, Underdog.”

I darted forward, arm pressing against Dresden’s chest, holding him back against the couch. Dresden relaxed into it, all obnoxious smile; he outgunned me and we both knew it, power dancing through his blood, but it left me with the stupid urge to taste it, so I did. Leaning in, I licked the scratch across his neck, copper tang of Dresden.

Pretty stupid. Pretty freaking stupid.

 

I got stupider. I got to imagining-the-slow-evisceration-of-John-Marcone levels of stupid, and if he didn’t get the fuck out of Dresden’s personal space right that minute, I was going to introduce an additional personal space to his intestines.

Marcone’s bodyguard was eyeing me.

I knew why. I had my weight on the balls of my feet, ready to move, tense in all the places that telegraphed _fight_.

_Down boy_ , I told myself.

Six months ago, this would have been funny. I’d have wolf whistled the pair of them, offered to book them a room, asked Marcone when the wedding was. Because Marcone did impassive with a hint of aggravation like a champ, and Dresden flailed beautifully if you caught him thinking inappropriate thoughts about his charismatic neighborhood mob boss.

It didn’t help that I could see the appeal; the eyes, the strength, what looked like a first class ass hinted at through his suit pants, and balls bigger than the moon if Marcone’s signature on the accords was anything to go by. Still, Dresden wasn’t the type to play the field. Not that we were... well. It’s not like I was his boyfriend; we weren’t lovestruck adolescents. Juvenile labels aside, I’d not asked or expected monogamy from him, or anyone, as far back as I could remember. I’d never _really_ seen what all the fuss was about, but... yeah.

I sort of had monogamy from Dresden. Accidentally.

I hadn’t really realised I'd grown used to the idea.

Dresden welcomed me into his bed when I blew through town, and I knew I had a space there. A space that wasn’t full of the precocious, charming bastardry of Marcone. He was standing beside Harry, supposedly planning, except planning didn’t require quite so many shared looks, familiar insults, and coded jokes.

Maybe this was just a stage. I was experimenting. I’d spent a couple of centuries fucking my way across the globe, maybe my body felt like a change. Maybe I’d grow out of it.

Fuck.

I clenched my fists as Marcone leaned past Dresden to point at the blueprints. They were practically breathing the same air; Dresden was going to walk out of here with the scent of Marcone all over him and I... needed to _stop thinking_.

_Wizard of the White Council_ , I reminded myself. _Harry Fucking Dresden, not someone you can collar and keep_.

And Ivy was sitting right there beside them, as effective a chaperone as you could hope for. I tried to convince my fists to unclench themselves. It didn’t work. The bodyguard, Hendricks, drifted past me, with the pretence of adjusting the blinds. He caught my eye just as Marcone murmured, smooth as silk, “Are you sure you’ll be an adequate distraction? I’m not convinced you have the stamina.”

“I’m a stallion of stamina, Marcone.”

I twitched in sheer idiotic rage, and Hendricks fumbled the blind. Apparently he wasn’t any keener on this discussion that I was.

“You can take a walk, if you want,” Hendricks said quietly. “She’s safe with them.”

“Pity I don’t get paid to take walks,” I growled.

Hendricks shrugged. “Then settle down. The boss has had an eye on you for the last ten minutes. We’ll get done quicker if you aren’t on point.”

“I’m _not_ on-- ” I realised suddenly that the three musketeers had quit their chatter. Everyone was looking at me.

Maybe that had been a little loud.

“Is there a problem, Mr Kincaid?” Marcone asked dispassionately.

“Minor difference of opinion,” I said, smile all teeth.

“You should have a cookie, Kincaid.” Ivy said, and patted the chair beside her. “And tell us what you think of these blueprints. I’m not sure sneaking in the back door is the best idea.”

I had a cookie. I bit into it, tried not to pretend it was Marcone I snapped at with my teeth.

We decided to kick the front door down instead.

 

I went for the age old strategy of Not Thinking About It. Unfortunately, I spend a lot of time in the company of someone who thinks about everything. A lot.

“Would you like to talk about it, Kincaid?” Ivy said, looking up from her artwork. She’d moved onto pastels from crayons, seemed to enjoy drawing combinations of shapes and colors she knew hadn’t been drawn before, making things that were new in the world.

“Talk?” I said, looking back from the window.

“You’re out of sorts,” she said. “You haven’t laughed at the radio once, and the host is particularly vitriolic today. And you haven’t touched your ice cream.”

“I don’t want any.”

“It’s chocolate chip.”

“So maybe I’m coming down with something.” I crossed my arms.

“You don’t come down with things, Kincaid.” Ivy paused, tilted her head. “Though... _amor hereos_ , perhaps? You have the symptoms.” I frowned; I wasn’t familiar with the term. Ivy was happy to elaborate, as she usually was. “Medieval physicians thought of it as a kind of melancholy, engendered through the humorous infection of the middle ventricle of the brain-- ”

“There’s nothing wrong with my ventricles.”

“ --caused by thinking continually on the image of a loved one-- ”

“Hey! I don’t have-- ”

“ --to the point that it becomes almost impossible to think on anything else. Consequently, the rational power becomes corrupted, and the obsessed lover cannot eat, drink or sleep.”

“I slept just fine.”

“I heard you pacing down the hall before the sun was up.”

“I was bodyguarding!” I frowned, ducked down to check her eyes and complexion. “Why were _you_ awake? What’s wrong?”

Ivy sighed, set down a red pastel. “Nothing is wrong, Kincaid. Except perhaps my primary caregiver is clearly distressed, and refuses to acknowledge it.”

Oh, fuck. Ivy had slipped past my defences a long time ago, probably before she’d even learned to toddle; it wasn’t easy to continue to being a dick around her. Defeated, I sat cross legged on the floor, scooped up my bowl of now-liquid ice cream, and sipped from it.

“Harry Dresden is confusing the fu-- fudge out of me.”

“I thought so. Do you love him, Kincaid?”

I shrugged. “Kiddo, world weary mercenaries don’t fall in love. We might fall into bed, but we don’t go looking for happy ever afters.”

Ivy met my eyes. “The Blackstaff of the White Council fell in love, once upon a time.”

McCoy was an assassin, not a mercenary, but he was close enough. I felt my face crinkle in distaste. “Not funny, Ivy. I don’t want to picture the old coot _romancing_ someone. What did he send them? Bales of hay? Sheep?”

“The head of a dragon, I believe. His intended was rather formidable.”

I blinked. “Are you telling me something you shouldn’t, Ivy?”

She smiled down at her picture. “Nothing you can use. Nothing of consequence. And who’s to know, except us two?” Ivy looked up, and I frowned at her.

“You gotta be careful, kid. There’s people with itchy trigger fingers’ll get twitchy if you start acting like you have an agenda.”

She raised a blonde brow at me. “And if I _do_ have an agenda, Kincaid?”

Ivy had been thinking about this. I could tell, from the way she spoke; straight back, unflinching gaze. I didn’t have to think about my answer. “You pay me enough. I’ll back you.”

She smiled, radiant, and then slid her picture towards me. “Finished. Here you are.” I looked down, couldn’t help the laugh that burst out of me. A tall man, in a long black coat. A cat and a dog, looking curiously over sized, and behind them, the red-orange-yellow blaze of fire.

“I’ll put it on the fridge.”

 

I knocked on Dresden’s door.

No answer, I knocked again. After a moment’s wait, Dresden opened the door and looked down at me with sleep heavy eyes, clothes all rumpled. He’d probably collapsed onto his bed after an all night lab session and slept through the best part of the day. Wouldn’t be the first time.

“K’ncaid?” he yawned. “Wasn’t expecting you.”

“No,” I said, shrugged. “That a problem?”

“Nah, but I’ve got stuff to do. Potions to brew.”

“Potions you can’t brew if I’m here?”

“Can if you like,” Dresden said, stepping aside to let me enter. “But most people don’t find it an exciting spectator sport. No accounting for taste.”

I rescued a paperback from one of his overburdened bookshelves, and followed Dresden down into his lab. It’s a comforting mess down there, a space well used, layered with his power, heavy enough to taste. I felt it wrap around me, trail across the back of my neck, soothe along my spine.

“Uh... I’ll clear a chair off for you,” Dresden said, scooping a mess of magazines away onto a shelf.

I hitched myself up onto one of the long tables instead, legs swinging beneath me in the same way Ivy’s had before she’d grown. “Don’t worry yourself, sweetheart.” I said, and Dresden scowled at me before setting to work. He faltered a couple of times, glancing over to a human skull perched on a shelf each time he did. A shelf littered with romance novels, which... hell, maybe they were spell ingredients, who knew with Dresden?

I forgot the book I’d brought down to entertain myself, distracted by Dresden’s continual movement. “What you making?”

“Trow repellent. They’ve been wreaking havoc down by the campus.”

“Favor for your werewolves?”

“Yeah.”

I’d met them a time or two. Their alpha, Borden, showed promise, and had the sense to follow Dresden’s lead when they crossed paths. Harry Dresden, the only wizard in the world with a friendly pack of shapeshifters backing him.

“Need a hand?” I asked, as Dresden hesitated between a rolled up newspaper and an over boiling beaker.

“Yeah, actually. Shred this.” Dresden tossed the paper to me, and I did, watching him turn down the flame.

“It doesn’t feel like magic,” I said. I was still blanketed in his power, but none of it felt very purposeful.

“It isn’t, yet. Patience.” Dresden muttered to himself as he diced something that shone strangely and shifted under his hands. I couldn’t identify it. I wasn’t used to seeing the man so unguarded, so caught up in his work when it wasn’t life threatening. I’d never seen Dresden making things instead of breaking them. The fact that I enjoyed it just as much settled like a weight in my belly.

“Want to go for dinner?” I said.

“Mmm? Oh, yeah. I’d kill for a Whopper.”

I didn’t have strong feelings one way or another about Burger King, but for Dresden it was a religion, so I nodded and gestured at him to finish up. A fast food joint was as good a place for this discussion as any.

 

We were sitting in a booth, Dresden with a huge mouthful of burger, when I said, “This is stupid.”

He swallowed, set the burger down and frowned at me. “Go on.”

I looked down at my hands, pressed flat against the table, and breathed out slowly, getting ready to dive headfirst into my own stupid embarrassment. “I. Want to make a go of things. With you.”

“Uh, right. Things?”

“Lovey dovey sappy handholding going steady things,” I growled.

Dresden coughed into his hand, mouth creeping up at the corners. “You... want to go steady. Right. You don’t sound too sure.”

“Haven’t tried it before,” I said, barely stopping myself from crossing my arms. It’d look too defensive.

Dresden grinned, took a sip of his coke. “Aw, you’re pretty when you pout,” he said.

“I am not pou-- ”

“Kincaid and me-ee, sitting in tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g!”

I kicked him under the table. “Knew you were going to be a dick about this.”

“Oh, I’m _sorry_ Mr too-cool-for-D &D-lone-wolf-assassin. Did I hurt your feelings?” I was growling again. Dresden grinned. “Really though, what brought this on? Do I need to check you for dark magic?”

“No.”

“Then tell me why.”

“Because I want to neutralise anyone that lays hands on you. Anyone that hurts you. Anyone that looks at you funny.”

Dresden blinked. “Right. But you _can’t_ do any of those things. Even if we’re going steady. You get that, right?”

“Yeah, I got the memo, Dresden. Everyone got that memo. You look after your own affairs.” I considered him slowly for a moment. “But you ask your friends for help, when you have to. Maybe you can start asking me too.”

“Going pro bono now?” he asked.

“Just for you, sunshine.” Dresden kicked me. “That a yes or a no?”

“Of course it’s a yes, idiot. Don’t you know me at all? I wasn’t falling into bed with you because it was _convenient_.”

“Right. No.” Something inside me... soothed. Dresden drained the last of his coke with an enthusiastic slurping noise. “What’s next on the agenda?”

He tilted his head. “You, I think. Maybe I should carry you over the threshold now.”

“Traditionalist. Going to put a white picket fence around the parking lot?”

“Sure. You’ll have to call a truce with Mister. Unless you plan on being the wicked stepmother.”

“Haven’t got the curves for it.”

Dresden’s gaze dropped, got brought up short by the table, and then turned mischievous. “Oh, I don’t know. I kind of like your flats.”

I laughed, nudged my leg forward between the long gangle of his own, tangling us together. I was wearing the wrong kind of shit kicking boots for a game of footsie, but Dresden got the message, eyes dark.

“Come on then,” he said, nodding towards the door.

 

As it happened, nobody carried anybody over the threshold, because the joke turned into a playful scuffle in Dresden’s doorway. I had him tight against the metal of the door, caught up in a competitive kiss, until he freed a hand for long enough to flail at the door handle. We fell into his apartment, grabbing and tugging at one another’s shirts even as we tumbled to the floor, racing to be first to strip our opponent. And then I got my face licked. By a Foo dog.

Dresden burst out laughing as I sat back with a grunt of distraction, straddling his thighs. “Mouse,” I acknowledged, dipping my head. The guardian eyed me in amusement, tail thumping the floor happily before he nosed against Dresden’s neck.

“Gah! No! Private party boy, sorry,” Dresden spluttered, fending Mouse off with a good natured push.

“If you don’t mind?” I asked politely, dusting off my company manners. Negotiating with the demi-celestial being responsible for Dresden’s well being was worth a little charm. Mouse’s tongue lolled out of his mouth as he huffed, and I didn’t have to speak Foo to know he was humoring me. But Mouse rumbled his agreement, and trotted out the still open door. Which, yeah, we should probably close that.

“Stay,” I told the wizard, springing up and shutting the security door, reassured by the solidity of the bolts sliding into place. As soon as it clicked shut, I had a lanky figure plastered against my back, Dresden’s hands creeping around to the button of my jeans.

“Didn’t stay,” I murmured, catching at Dresden’s wrists, keeping him close against me. He was ringed up, braceleted, and I’d always liked the shine of the jewelry on him, the way he decorated himself with weapons.

“Course not,” he said, and I could feel his smile against my ear. “Would you be here if I made a habit of doing what I’m told, Kincaid?”

“No,” I grinned, turning in his grip, sliding my hands around to dip into his back pockets, pulling his hips against my own while I got a nice handful of his ass. I buried my face in the crook of Dresden’s neck, scenting him, licking, setting my teeth against him lightly. Dresden hummed, tilted his head for me, quiet assurance that he was safe even with me at his throat.

“So... about you suddenly feeling you’ve got to lay waste to my enemies?”

I groaned. “Can we not talk shop when I’m hard? Blood isn’t in the right brain here.” I thrust against him to emphasise my point. Dresden laughed.

“Not shop. Talking us. Is that as far as it goes? You’ve not... started feeling like you want to lock me up in a high tower? Smother me in cotton wool?”

“I’ve had some stupid thoughts. Maybe,” I growled, working on the buckle of his belt, because at least one of us should stick with the game plan, right? “But I figured you’d make a shitty Rapunzel. Haven’t got the tresses for it.”

“Potion’d solve that,” he hummed thoughtfully.

I pulled back. “What? You _want_ me to hide you away from-- ”

“No,” Dresden said, and his eyes caught mine for a moment, and his power tried to snatch me, but I closed my eyes instinctively. “Academic consideration. I won’t be locked away, or kept safe, or protected, Kincaid. I don’t want to be. You don’t want me to be the kind of man who’d want to be.”

That was... fucking obvious, when said out loud, actually. The whole fucking idiotic fascination with Harry Dresden sprang from the fact that he just couldn’t quit, that he was always over his head, out of his league, coming up swinging. That there was fire in his blood. “I don’t,” I said. “Can’t keep you, or collar you. Won’t try.” I leaned back, considering. “But what do you think about maybe fucking like I might?”

“ ...uh, ok? I mean, I’m not _entirely_ sure what you just asked me for, but I’m a try anything once kind-- ”

I grabbed Dresden by the hair and shut him up with a kiss, harder than our usual. I felt the stupid growling snarling thoughts inside me scent their rightful prey, and gave them reign. Dresden would stop me if he wanted to, but maybe he felt like playing the game. “Fuck!” he hissed, as in a beautiful moment of multi tasking I bit down on his lower lip and yanked his belt free from his jeans.

“Bed,” I snarled, pushing Dresden backwards, crowding him towards the next room, lips drawn back from my teeth to echo the amusement I caught in his face. “Now.”

Dresden paused to lean against the bedroom doorway, arms crossed against his chest, humming something vaguely familiar. _Who’s afraid of the big bad wolf?_

“Smart ass,” I growled, stepped forward, grabbed Dresden by the neck of his t-shirt and propelled him into the bedroom, shoving him onto the bed. I followed him down, pressed myself full length against him, and for want of a better word, started rutting.

Dresden was giggling. Doing his best to suppress it, but still. Giggling.

I pulled back, hands fisted in Dresden’s shirt, and glared at him.

“You can bite me,” he grinned. “You can come all over me. Put me on my knees and make me beg, if you like. But you aren’t pissing on me Fido, just so you know.”

I set about stripping him instead, ignoring the occasional burst of laughter. Dresden dealt with nerves that way, laughter and taunts, but it wasn’t stopping me. He was mocking, maybe a little wary, but still with me, still interested. I flipped Dresden over, face down, and swatted his ass once, hard, just to see the mark of my hand on his skin. He stopped laughing.

“Dresden?” I asked, finding the worlds I’d lost to snarls and wanting and _mine_. Dresden didn’t answer. Instead, he burst back into action and I was flat on my back, losing my clothes to a hurricane of wizard.

“Ok,” he said, “ok, ok,” and palmed my cock just a little too hard. “Rough, yeah. S’good.” Dresden leaned in, grabbed my wrists as I tried to catch him, pinning them beside my head. “You want me, you got me,” he said. “ _If_ you can take me.” There was challenge in his eyes, excitement, that low, dangerous feeling that roiled around Dresden before a fight.

I broke his grip on me instinctively, caught him as he dropped, and rolled us. “You _want_ me to win,” I growled down into his rebellious face, “want me to call you to heel, don’t you? Teach you to sit, and stay and-- ”

“Roll over,” he laughed, pushing me again but this time I was braced, ready, this time I wasn’t going to be moved.

“Yeah, I can teach you that. How to roll onto your belly and spread your legs and ask _nicely_.” Dresden’s cheeks flushed up pretty, his eyes dark. “Quick learner, aren’t you?” I said. “But I bet you need a little help, for this kind of lesson.”

Dresden’s mouth was just a little open, his gaze flying across my features, working this out, working me out, what we were doing, whether he liked it. I grabbed my belt from where he’d dumped it on the bed, and as Dresden made a breathless questioning noise, I fashioned a teaching aid, and bound his wrists, fastening them to the head of the bed. He fought me a little, but never said stop, and a bit of pressure in the right places quelled him. Dresden glared, all anger and bravado stretched out beneath me. “Stay,” I said with a grin, tapping the leather around his wrists. “Good boy.”

Dresden growled at me and I patted him on the head, doing my best not to crack a smile. Mine to pet, if I wanted. Mine to fuck, to mark. As Dresden drew breath to abuse me I set my teeth to my favorite spot, high on his neck, the place that tasted like _Harry_ , the place people could read _taken_ , if they looked. I sucked at him, worried a little with my teeth, called his blood and fire to the surface of his skin.

“Fu-- !” Harry bucked under me, a tight pained little breath but not a complaint, not a complaint at all; he was grinding against my thigh.

I pulled back, “Stay!” I reminded him, moving a hand to his belly, pinning him still on the bed. Dresden snarled again, jerked his hands against the belt. I reached down, stroked myself a couple of times, hotter and harder than I should have been if I’d wanted to draw this out. I sat back on my heels, considered what I did want. I could come across Dresden’s face, in his hair, reach over and smudge it across his mouth, make him lap it up.

“What?” Dresden managed. “What’s that face mean?”

“Means I’ve got you where I want you, sweetheart. Safe and sound and hot and hard and _mine_.” I grazed blunt nails through the hair on his chest, feeling his contentment as I did so, because as much as he bristled, he _liked_ being petted, occasionally.

“Yours?” Dresden said with a roll of his eyes. “Hey, Kincaid. You don’t use it? You lose it.” He thrust against the air to punctuate his statement, trying to conduct me into action with his impatiently bobbing cock. I swatted Dresden’s thigh in reproach, but it’d worked; my gaze had fastened on his cock, and I knew what I wanted.

I fished the necessaries out of my jeans-- it always paid to be prepared, Dresden’s housekeepers had stocked his bedside table with some really unhelpful props before-- but kind of skimped on the prep. I knew what I wanted, what I could take. Dresden made a gleeful little breathy noise as I slicked his cock, stretched myself just enough, and then sank down over him, guiding Dresden into me.

“Oh, _yeah_ ,” he said, all cooperative smiles all of a sudden. Mine, as close as he could be. I rode Dresden, right where I wanted him, until I rose as he thrust and we were out of sync. “Heel!” I snapped, and then he was back with me, wide eyed like he didn’t know why. I wrapped a hand around my cock, getting ready to use Dresden as a canvas. “Good. Boy.” I ground out, catching sight of my mark on his neck, red and growing darker and yeah, he’d be _pissed_ about that in the morning but there and then he wore it well, with the same easy warmth that he wore the smile on his face, the challenge in his eyes. “Come on, Harry, come here,” I coaxed, dropping down onto him, feeling him filling me up, as much as I could manage. I ground against him, rocking my hips as thrust, just as much as my weight would let him.

“Jared,” he drawled. “S’good.”

“It’s good, _you’re_ good, Harry. And you’re done, come on.” Harry grinned, sharp, and for a moment I thought he was going to deny himself just to be contrary, but then he caught his breath in a way I knew intimately, and pushed into me one last time. “Good boy,” I praised, feeling him soften as I finished myself off, one stroke, two, and then pulsed across him, pale streaks across his chest, pointing the way to my mark on his neck. Beautiful.

“Fucking. Smug,” he mumbled.

“Every right to be,” I said, leaning forward to pet him again, matting my mess into his hair. Harry made a noise of displeasure and I grinned. “Prude.”

“Animal,” he mumbled, pulling against the belt, and I slipped off him, freed his hands. He ran a finger down his neck, winced.

“Sorry?” I grinned.

“No you aren’t.” He looked down at his chest. “Ugh. This is going steady for you?”

“Apparently. But I’ll buy you flowers tomorrow?”

“You better,” he said, scowl not quite gaining purchase on his face, and I found myself grinning back at him. I’d buy him a fucking florist, if I could have this on a regular basis. Have him.

**Author's Note:**

> Ivy's words about _amor hereos_ are taken from Edward C. Schweitzer, “Fate and Freedom in The Knight’s Tale,” Studies in the Age of Chaucer (1981) Volume 3 pg 23.


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